


you like making me wait for it

by Mellaithwen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Birthday Smut, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Requited Love, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellaithwen/pseuds/Mellaithwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I’m too old for this shit</i>, Bucky thinks when the idiotic Hydra splinter group decide to attack him. On his birthday no less. <i>Rude</i>.</p><p>or, the one where Bucky gets dosed with sex pollen, on his 99th birthday, and you’d think that kind of thing would make getting laid easier, but you'd be wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you like making me wait for it

**Author's Note:**

> Better late than never. Happy Birthday Bucky!
> 
> ........yes the title is from Carly Rae Jepsen......because Bucky really, really, really, really, really, _really_ likes Steve.

 

Bucky wakes up to the feeling of Steve’s hot breath tickling at the side of his neck just before the good captain starts singing all soft and slow and sultry in his ear.

 

“...happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Bucky...”

 

And for a second Barnes struggles to breathe past the strange fluttering in his chest. Today is his ninety-ninth birthday. He is _ninety-nine years old,_ chronologically so at least as far as his birth-date and the current date are concerned. He was born at the tail end of the first world war, and he barely made it out alive of the second. He’s seen regimes rise and fall, and he’s been forced to fight and kill for a motherland he didn’t belong to, as well as another that he did. He’s been torn apart for the sake of the betterment of others, to facilitate a bigger picture that he had no wish to be a part of, and it’s only recently that he’s been able to piece himself back together again.

 

_Ninety-fucking-nine._

 

“...happy birthday to you.” Steve finishes, and Bucky makes to swat him out of the way, but just as his metal hand makes contact with the back of Steve’s neck he changes tack and pulls him in for a kiss instead. Steve’s breath tastes minty-fresh and Bucky can smell the hint of coffee grounds on his lips, so he’s clearly been up long enough to brush his teeth and put on a fresh pot of the good stuff.

 

“I think I’m ready for my birthday present now.” Bucky says when Steve pulls back, greedily licking at his lips to remember the taste of him there.

 

“Oh is that right?” Steve smiles, moving over so that he’s leaning on his forearms and looking up at Bucky, with his chin resting on his boyfriend’s bare chest. “You sure you’re up to it? You are ninety-nine, after all.”

 

Bucky’s pretty sure Steve knows the answer to that. Hell, he’s pretty sure Steve can _feel_ his answer _rising up to meet him_.

 

“You’re so cute when you blush.” Steve says, brushing back a stray strand of hair out of Bucky’s face, and looking down at him like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be in the world right now. “But first things first—” Steve backtracks suddenly, jumping off of the bed and out of their room, without even bothering to finish his sentence.

 

Bucky groans, before muttering _sorry buddy_ to the neglected bulge in his pants. He briefly entertains the possibility of jerking off a bit quickly, but he sighs instead, long-suffering as he is, and begrudgingly pads out into the kitchen in nothing but his boxers, where Steve is waiting for him.

 

“Ta-da!”

 

Bucky stops.

 

Bucky stares.

 

Because Steve is standing in the middle of their kitchen, holding a frying pan full of pancake batter and wearing an apron.

 

And nothing _but_ an apron.

 

“Woah.”

 

“I know, I know, pancakes are your favourite…” Steve starts to say, turning his back to Bucky to face the stove.

 

“You’re my favourite.” Bucky counters, as he sidles up behind Steve; wrapping his arms around his partner’s middle, pulling him in close, and resting his head in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

 

Which is exactly when the smoke grenade comes hurtling through the window, showering them with broken glass and giving them little warning to the stream of Hydra goons that come following after. They’re wearing masks, and full tactical gear, while Steve and Bucky are wearing one pair of boxers and an apron _between_ them.

 

“Seriously?” Bucky shouts, punching his closest attacker hard in the face and using his body like a battering ram to hurl him into another hostile. “It’s my fucking birthday!”

 

 _I’m too old for this shit,_ he thinks when one of the attackers sets off a gas canister right in Bucky’s face. For a moment all he can see is a haze of yellow dust clouding his vision, but as for what he can _feel?_ Well all of a sudden that’s a little harder to explain.

  
  


...

  
  


“Barnes, _hey_ , look at me,” Tony says seriously, pushing Banner out of the way just as he was about to shine a penlight into Bucky’s eyes.  “Barnes, hey,” Tony’s clicking his fingers now. “This is serious, this is _life and death_ , okay?”

 

Steve frowns.

 

“So, you’re telling me, that _Captain America_ was _completely naked_ under the apron? Like, seriously, _nothing_?”

 

Steve glares.

 

 _“Buck_ -naked.” Bucky says, laughing a little more than usual at his own joke.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. The attack on their apartment had been unexpected to say the least, and Steve’s less than thrilled that they’re going to have to move _again_ as a result. Not to mention the fact that his plans for Bucky’s birthday have been completely ruined, along with his best frying pan.

 

He’d used _that_ to brain one of the goons that Coulson and his team had been more than happy to take off their hands as soon as they’d been called in. Bye bye pancakes with smiley-faces drawn in maple syrup: hello debrief at Avengers HQ. Maria Hill had insisted they return to the tower for their own safety and now here they are: with Bucky getting the old once over in medical because he’d been pawing at Steve the whole way into Manhattan in the back of the quinjet—looking up at him every five minutes in awe, as if he’d forgotten the depths of his desire and been reminded all over again—and now his cheeks are flushed and he’s looking at Steve like...like...

 

Steve clears his throat, and pulls at the collar of the _Stark Industries_ hoodie he’d quickly commandeered upon arrival.

 

“I can’t believe I missed it,” Tony says, seeing as how he’d arrived just as everyone was clothed once more. “And then Hydra just _attacked_?”

 

“Yup!”

 

Steve frowns some more. Bucky’s enthusiasm is putting him on edge, and it has nothing to do with the sheer embarrassment of having to fight a bunch of nazis while inadvertently mooning his neighbours in Brooklyn Heights.

 

“Did you hit your head?” He asks, running back over the attack in his mind. The smoke had kept them separated, and Steve had lost sight of Bucky for way longer than he was comfortable with. The second they both had an opening to run, Steve had made it a priority.

 

Banner tilts Bucky’s head forward to inspect for any damage, unintentionally ruffling Bucky’s hair as he does so, and Bucky actually giggles at the touch. “That tickles,” he says, and when Bruce steps back, dropping his hand to his side, Bucky frowns and says, “aw don’t stop.”

 

“Are you drunk?” Tony asks, leaning in close to get a better look at Bucky’s face—and to Steve that’s the clincher because Bucky would never have let Tony get that close on a normal day. “Are you high?!” Tony amends, when he catches sight of Bucky’s too-wide eyes and his pupils all blown to hell. “Kicking off the birthday celebrations early, were we?”

 

Steve ignores him and gently takes Bucky’s face in both his hands instead, looking at him head on. He can’t ignore the way Bucky seems to melt at the touch, or the way his whole body starts to lean in closer to Steve like he’s being drawn to him.

 

“Bucky—did they hit you with something?”

 

And Tony sobers up instantly. _“Shit, he got whammied?”_ He asks no-one in particular.

 

But, _you’re so fucking beautiful, Rogers,_ is Bucky’s only response, sounding more than a little lustful as he bites at his own bottom lip. He reaches out suddenly, unable to resist any longer—grabbing at Steve’s clothes, and pulling him forward so hard that the material rips at Steve’s shoulder. Bucky crushes their lips together with enough force that their teeth gnash against each other as they kiss, and the moan he lets out is nothing short of _obscene_.

 

When Steve finally manages to pull out of the sudden, intense, embrace, his lips look raw and his hair is standing on end from where Bucky had pulled on it: he looks freshly fucked from just one kiss, and if Steve was blushing before, he’s approaching supernova-levels of red right now.

 

“Stevie,” Bucky groans at the space between them, and just as Tony looks like he’s about to comment—his eyebrows buried into his hairline—Banner takes one long look at Bucky’s predicament and makes an executive decision.

 

“Everybody out!” He shouts, and the last thing Steve sees before the door is slammed in his face is Bucky shifting back and forth on the edge of his seat and biting back a moan at the blessed friction he finds there.

  
  


…

  
  
  


“So you’re saying he’s… _horny_?” Steve manages to say, once Bruce—assisted by Fitz and Simmons—has examined the test results and brought them to light.

 

“Excessively so, Captain,” Jemma concurs. “The spike in his biometrics is really quite astonishing.”

 

Steve looks back into the room, where Bucky is sat alone on the cold steel of a table in Bruce’s lab. He’s sweating visibly, and he’s gripping the edge of the table so tightly that the metal is starting to bend in his fist.

 

“And he got dosed with some kind of—”

 

“Sex pollen. The scientific term you’re looking for is _sex pollen_ —”

 

“I don’t think that’s a scientific term, Tony.” Bruce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve the tension that’s building up there.

 

“ _Sex pollen?_ ….What?”

 

“It’s a term used most often in—” Jemma starts to explain helpfully before Fitz gently jabs her in the ribs and she promptly stops talking. “Another time, perhaps.” She says instead, and Steve thinks he’s better off not knowing, all things considered.

 

“Is he...okay? I mean, is he in pain?”

 

“Not as such, no.” Bruce says carefully. “Discomfort, might be a more accurate description. Essentially, his body’s gone into overdrive. What started as an increase in endorphins has now developed into full blown arousal.”

 

“Even so, his level of control is quite something. Perhaps, if we had a better understanding of the average refractory period in an enhanced male, such as yourself, we might have a better knowledge in which to—”

 

“Maybe you could take notes next time, Cap.”

 

“Tony…” Steve says, using his best _this-is-your-final-warning_ tone, to which Tony lifts his arms in mock surrender.

 

“Notes would be very helpf— _oh_ you’re joking.” Jemma finishes, a little despondent, but she laughs awkwardly even so.

 

“How do they even make something like that?” Steve asks, hastily diverting the conversation as much as he can given the circumstances.

 

“We found references to something similar in some of the old SHIELD databases, but it was classed as a failure.” Fitz answers helpfully. “It’s temporary, we’re sure of that.”

 

“My best guess is these guys got lucky.” Bruce says. “Coulson said when they were in interrogation they admitted to finding some old batch of the stuff and figured they’d test it out. They’re not the smartest splinter group, and they didn’t share their intel with anyone else because they wanted the win for themselves.”

 

“Well they can’t be that stupid—they found out where we live.” Steve says, regretting having turned down Tony’s previous offer of a security upgrade when they’d first moved in.

 

“And they attacked in broad daylight, without any real thought of what would happen after they pissed off Captain America and Captain America's boyfriend. As much as I’d love to use this opportunity to point out the benefits of you guys moving into the Tower finally, I really don’t think you have too much to worry about if you decide to stay in Brooklyn—”

 

 _I’m not worried about that,_ Steve thinks, _I’m worried about Bucky_.

 

“—in fact, I’m gonna go check in on Coulson and see if we can’t avoid this happening again. Not that I don’t love the idea of Captain America fighting Hydra in his birthday suit—oh hey, that’s funny because—” Four faces turn to give Tony an exasperated look, and he thinks maybe now isn’t the time. “—or not. I’ll be going now.”                  

 

“How long will he be affected?” Steve asks Banner, as Tony takes his leave.

 

“It shouldn’t be long, I’d say at the rate it’s burning through his system, it’ll last another six hours at most. Right now the best thing for him to do is stay here, and let the drug run it’s course. Maybe even try to sleep it off. We’ll monitor his vitals, and do regular blood checks until we know he’s out of the woods.”

 

“Don’t worry Captain, it’s not contagious.” Jemma says kindly, turning to go.

 

“He’s in good hands.” Leo confirms, making a quick note on the tablet in his hands as he follows Simmons out the door.

 

“Great, that’s...that’s just great.” Steve mutters, thinking about the day he had planned, and how it’s all gone to shit. He wants to remind himself that it could be worse, that really they’re both alive and unharmed and that’s a good thing. Despite that, Steve can’t help but think of the places he and Bucky were going to go to, and the food they were going to eat. The birthday cake with enough candles to be considered a fire hazard. Oh, and not to forget the _complete and_ _utter_ _consensual_ sex they were going to have afterwards, without any drug induced fervour getting in the way.

 

He looks back into the lab, and he can see the uncomfortable misery that’s clearly written on Bucky’s face, and he knows that the clinical setting can’t be helping matters in the slightest. He’s about to go in—because there’s no way in hell he’s leaving Bucky to face this alone on his freakin’ birthday—when he stops, and hesitates with his hand hovering over the door handle.

 

“What Simmons said, about...about his control...what did she—?”

 

“He’s uncomfortable as hell, Steve, but regardless of what his body is asking for, the only one he wants is _you_.”

 

It shouldn’t make him happy, not when Bucky’s suffering, but Steve can’t ignore the warm feeling pooling in his gut at having the strength of their love confirmed once more. He steels himself for a long day, thanks Bruce for all of his help, and heads inside.

  
  


…

  
  


_Fuck, look at him. Those long eyelashes, those shoulders, and his broad fucking chest and that tiny waist and the way his face creases and his smile looks fucking bashful, and those hands, and those fingers, and those big blue eyes, fuck fuck fuck. Wanna make him come apart so hard—_

 

“Bucky?

 

_—Captain America trembling and begging for more, the taste of his hole, so tight, so fucking tight—_

 

“Mmhm.”

 

“You doing okay?”

 

Bucky takes a shuddering breath, and nods before giving Steve the thumbs up. He’s not sure what’ll come out if he actually opens his mouth, and Banner’s still within earshot. The doctor is pointedly shuffling through his notes at his desk and Bucky thinks that probably has a lot to do with the very obvious boner poking through Bucky’s dark grey boxers, and the mutterings of what he was going to do to Steve from their private examination earlier.

 

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Steve says and Bucky thinks, _fuck yes, lets._

  
  


…

  
  


“Nearly there, Bucky, nearly there.” Steve says, helping Bucky stagger into the elevator. Friday greets them with a happy chime, but Steve’s too busy keeping Bucky upright and Bucky’s too busy trying to debauch Steve to take any notice.

 

Now that they’re alone—or as alone as you can be in a building mostly controlled by an omnipresent artificial intelligence—Bucky thinks _fuck it_ , and gives in. The elevator doors have barely started to close before he’s _on_ Steve—pushing him up against the wall and pulling at his hair once more. He starts nibbling at his earlobe like it’s fucking catnip, and Steve for all of his resolve wants nothing more than to give in too.

 

But he can’t, no matter how much his dick is pressing up against the fabric of the Stark-branded gym shorts he’s currently wearing.

 

“You want it too, I know you do, come on baby.” Bucky says, almost purring, his voice sounding more than a little breathless as he grabs at Steve’s wrists. He pins them above his head with his left hand while pawing at Steve’s groin with his right. “Watching you fight in the apartment—you were so fucking hot, wearing nothing but that tiny apron, and punching the crap out of a bunch of nazis, _goddamnit,_ I could’ve fucked you right there and then.”

 

Bucky’s eyes are dark, his pupils blown and filled with an undercurrent of lust that’s so damned inviting that for a moment Steve forgets that he needs to be the one to put a stop to it.  

 

“Right in front of the neighbours,” he continues. “Could’ve let them watch, what a show it could’ve been, what a fucking show.” Bucky kisses him again, pulling at Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth and it hurts in the best possible way but it has to stop. Steve pushes Bucky gently and brings his own arms back down; using them to keep Barnes at arms length.

 

“Not like this.” Is all he says, before directing Friday to where they need to go. “Not until this stuff’s out of your system.”

 

Bucky whines unhappily at being kept apart from Steve in the elevator, looking like a puppy that’s just been kicked.

 

“I promise I’ll make it up to you Buck, but there’s no way we’re doing it when you’re under the influence of some messed up sex-drug that Hydra cooked up by accident.”

 

“But _Steeeeve_ —”

 

“No.”

 

By the time they make it to one of Tony’s guest-rooms in the tower, Bucky’s muscles are shaking from the exertion of his near-constant arousal, and he’s more than happy to let Steve hold him close as they both fumble towards a more private setting.

 

The second Bucky lands on the bed, he’s turning around and moving to shuck off his boxers as if Steve hadn’t spent the last five minutes refusing point blank to have sex with him.  The gentle touch Steve uses to stop him in his tracks practically sets Bucky’s nerve-endings on fire.

 

“Try to sleep.” Steve says, and Bucky thinks _really, Rogers? Really?!_

 

Steve gives him his best apologetic smile, as he pulls the covers over Bucky’s legs, and drags a chair from the corner of the room over to the side of the bed. Bucky tries everything to get Steve to cave, but the man’s resolve is absolute as always.

 

Sleep doesn’t come, and frustratingly enough, neither does Bucky.

  
  


…

  
  


Steve finds an old episode of _The West Wing_ showing on tv and Banner pops by awkwardly to take another blood test. The results show that the drug’s still in Bucky’s system— _yeah no kidding_ —and Steve still won’t have sex with him, so all he can do is palm at his erection and whine like a teenager who just hit puberty. In the background he can hear the characters arguing with one another as they walk down an endless corridor in the White House. Bucky imagines having sex with President Steve Rogers in the oval office.

 

_Mr. President, your country needs you!_

 

_Not now, Mrs. Landingham! Can’t you see I’m busy fucking my Chief of Staff?_

 

Steve’s replacement phone chirps.

 

“Sam says happy birthday,” Steve tells Bucky. “And he hopes you feel better soon.”

 

“Don’t we all?” Bucky says, gritting his teeth and pulling at the ends of the bedsheet.

 

Another chirp.

 

“And Nat says she hopes— _ahem,_ actually, maybe it’s better if you read that later.”

 

The phone chirps a third time, but Steve doesn’t look. Instead he changes the channel to some documentary about the stars, and they’re playing Bowie in the background.

 

Bucky closes his eyes and lets the west-wing fantasy fade away. Instead he thinks about having sex with Steve in space instead— _ground control to major tom—_ zero gravity forces them to hold on to each other for dear life— _commencing countdown engines on_ —their thighs clenched tight— _check ignition_ —bodies pulled in close, humping each other to a steady rhythm and and _and—_

 

Nothing. Bucky can find no release on his own, and he’s got the worst case of blue-balls known to man. He needs Steve, he needs his cock buried deep inside of him. He needs....

 

“Fuck me.” He begs for the umpteenth time. “Please god, just fucking fuck me.”

 

“Here, drink some water,” Steve says instead, unmoved. “You have to keep hydrated.”

  
  


...

  
  
  


_“...and we pulled to the kerb of a street in Spanish Harlem. A savage, a garish, a moody neighbourhood garlanded with poster-portraits of movie stars and Madonnas…”_

 

Steve’s reading Truman Capote out loud to Bucky when Fitz leaves following the second round of blood tests.  Yes, the drug is still in his system, and no Steve will not have sex with him.

 

Bucky’s head is getting clearer at least, so he hopes to god this won’t last much longer. To distract himself in between bursts of involuntary twitching down below, Bucky decides to be a little shit in revenge. Whenever he can focus long enough to actually hear what Steve’s reading, he’ll do his very best to make a double entendre, or interrupt a poignant moment of classic literature with a string of obscenities and a level of dirty-talk seldom used between them.

 

(His outburst in the elevator notwithstanding.)

 

“Don’t make me gag you.” Steve says, more than a little irritated, and secretly quite turned on. He regrets his words instantly when the suggestion only seems to fuel Bucky’s desire. His eyes light up and he writhes underneath the sheets with more urgency than before.

 

“Jeezus Steve, _you’re killing me_.”

 

Steve doesn’t respond to that, but he brings the book up close to his face to hide his blushing and to make it harder to see Bucky lying on the bed, completely wrung out and yet still as aroused as ever. He finds his place on the page and keeps reading.

 

_“...fruit-rind and rotted newspaper were hurled about by the wind, for the wind still boomed, though the rain had hushed, and there were bursts of blue in the sky.”_

  


...

  
  


“It’s definitely wearing off,” Simmons confirms cheerfully following test number three.

 

Bucky wants to yell in frustration, but Jemma’s a good person and she just brought him a box of chocolate-filled donuts from herself and the rest of the Avengers that spell out _Happy Birthday Barnes!_ in powdered sugar so he just bites his lip and nods in thanks.

 

He smothers his muffled screams into his pillow instead.

  
  


...

  
  


He doesn’t know how he manages it, but shortly after test number four, Bucky does actually fall asleep, and he only knows it to be true because he’s being woken up by a warm body sidling up next to his on the bed.

 

“Buck—hey, Bucky, wake up, Bucky, Buck, _Buuuuckyyyy._ ”

 

“‘ge’r’off me.” Bucky mutters, throwing a pillow in what he assumes is Steve’s general direction. He feels like crap—he feels _hungover,_ and that hasn’t happened in a hellova long time. His body aches and he’s tired and _embarrassed_ and if he wants to spend the last few minutes of his ninety-ninth birthday hiding in a cocoon of blankets while the sunset’s last light bounces off of the skyscrapers that book-end the Avengers tower then that’s his prerogative.

 

“So I guess you’re not interested in Banner’s latest test results?”

 

Bucky pokes his head out from under the covers.

 

“Am I clean?” He asks, frowning at his own choice of words.

 

“Actually, you’re kinda covered in powdered sugar…” Steve says, referring to the dust on Bucky’s mouth and cheeks—the only evidence left over from the donuts gifted to him earlier. Eating the whole lot had been surprisingly helpful in distracting him from his never ending boner. Smacking Steve’s hand away every time he had reached for one had been quite satisfying as well, but he suspects that was for a wholly different reason.

 

Bucky expects Steve to brush the powder off of his face in a conventional manner but instead he licks at the sugar on his face and says, “there, _now_ you’re clean,” while smiling. He plants a kiss on Bucky’s forehead, and slowly pulls the covers down and away from him. He kisses him again once his jaw’s exposed, and then again on the side of his neck, before planting a final kiss on his lips.

 

“You’re such a fucking cocktease, Rogers.” Bucky says, half-moaning as his pelvis tilts up, almost humping the air in anticipation of what comes next. “ _Wait_ —you said—does that mean—?”

 

“The drug’s out of your system.” Steve confirms, edging up close to Bucky on the bed. “It’s time for your birthday present. And I think you’ve waited long enough.” He smirks, taking a moment to leave a trail of bite marks along Bucky’s collarbone, sucking seductively at the skin, while his left hand reaches into Bucky’s boxers. He grins his way into another kiss at the greeting he finds there, before he starts stroking rhythmically at Bucky’s shaft.

 

Bucky’s trembling in anticipation, and Steve can feel his own cock twitching just from the sight of his partner finally getting his just desserts.

 

“You’re perfect.” He says, because he knows it’s what Bucky needs to hear after a day of being rejected for his own good. “And you’re so good, so, so good, and I love you.”

 

Bucky makes a sound in the back of his throat that sounds like a grateful whimper. His whole body is shuddering now, and it has nothing to do with whatever crap he got doused with before breakfast—which makes him even happier. “Steve,” he whispers, because he can’t string a sentence together, not one that would make any sense anyway. “Steve, Steve, Steve.”

 

“I’m here, I’m right here,” Steve whispers keeping a firm hold of Bucky’s cock in his hand. Bucky tries to catch his breath—barely hanging on by a thread—his thighs straining while his body is kept taut as a bowstring ready for release. Steve shuffles further down on the bed to wrap his lips around Bucky’s dick. His hands grab a hold of either side of Bucky’s thighs as he goes down on him, his fingers digging in deep, leaving sharp imprints in their wake. Bucky’s sure he’ll have bruises for at least a day—and that’s saying something with their physiology. Bucky's own hands are buried in Steve's hair, holding on for purchase, holding on for dear life.

 

Steve brings Bucky right to the very edge with his tongue, lapping at the pre-come that’s waiting there, only breaking for air long enough to say, “ _happy birthday, Bucky_ ,” as he climaxes. Bucky comes suddenly, with his head tilted back and his body heaving in the last throes of his orgasm—the pleasurable warmth in his belly spreading up and out and across until even his fingers seem to tingle with it. Steve follows suit, muffling his own cries as he bites down on Bucky’s inner thigh, leaving yet another bruise there that will fade quicker than most.

 

Immeasurably content, Steve shifts, and moves onto his back on the bed so that Bucky can turn over and lie on top of his chest. As he does so, Steve starts running his fingers through Bucky’s hair, soft and soothing and calm in the comedown. Bucky’s exhausted, and happy and his body is aching in all the right ways.

 

“Thank you,” he says, nuzzling into Steve’s broad chest, because after spending half the day fighting the urge to hump every damn thing in site, the release—now that the drug, as well as his blue balls, is gone—is better than he could have ever imagined.

 

“Just 116 days to go.” Bucky says, as they lie there, sated in each other's arms.

 

“Oh yeah?” Steve responds, sleepily. “And then what?” He asks, pretending not to know when his own birthday is.

 

“Payback.” Bucky grins.

 

Outside night falls and despite the glowing city lights of Manhattan coming to life, Steve and Bucky sleep.

  
  
.  


**Author's Note:**

> come say hello on [tumblr](http://mellaithwen.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
